Silver Decade: Glimpses of Aftermath
by Aleanbh
Summary: AN: "decade:(noun) 1. a period of ten years; 2. a group, set or series of ten." Red John's death affected many: 10 oneshots on the subject. (Jane x Lisbon, team, a slew of minor characters from over the years.)
1. Sam

**Silver Decade: "**_decade:(noun) 1. a period of ten years; 2. a group, set or series of ten." A collection of 10 oneshots dealing with the reality and aftermath of catching Red John after 10 years. Some scenes we didn't get to see onscreen,. I hope you enjoy, please review!_

* * *

Sam is in her kitchen when she hears. She's standing at the sink, scrubbing the stain out of a tea cup when she hears. Sam always has the radio blaring when she's doing the housework; something that annoys Pete she knows, but he never says a word, just sighs and finds an excuse to go outside. Sam likes it better that way. He wouldn't ask her to switch it off, wouldn't ask her for anything he didn't need or anything he knows she wouldn't give him. She's always had the upper hand their whole lives, even when they were children. They both prefer it that way. The stain in the tea cup has been there a long time, perhaps always, Sam muses as she rubs it a little more persistently.

It's then the news comes on the radio, and of course it's blaring, and all of a sudden the headline is that the husband and father, Patrick Jane, of two of the serial killer Red John's victims, has killed the serial murderer in Sacramento yesterday evening, and the report booms around the walls of her home. Had the sink not been full of hot soapy water, the tea cup she was holding would surely be shattered, for Sam drops it in fright, but it hits the bottom of the sink with only a light clinking sound, dulled by the water between her hands and it. Before she realises what she's doing, Sam finds a warm soapy fist at her heart and she can feel her heart thundering in her chest and pounding in her ears. She feels dizzy, and she presses her hands to the sink to keep herself up.

That damned boy, she thinks, he did it. After all these years, he's done it. That poor boy. She remembers him as a child, though she remembers Angela more clearly. She'd been one hell of a girl, more than a match for that troublesome Jane boy. A great girl that had grown into a magnificent woman. No wonder they'd all fallen so hard after her death. A waste was what that had been, Sam knew. Annie had always been the only one her fool of a brother would listen to. Sam had seen it a million times. Of course, Sam was a few years older than Angela had been but she'd seen it all: she'd talk him out of something stupid, calm him down when things went awry; ever since they were children, it was always Danny being looked after, being kept out of his trouble by his big sister. He was the only boy Patrick had ever had to compete with for Annie's attentions. Those pair had adored each other. Sam knew Patrick would have followed that girl to the end of the world. Hell, she'd been dead almost a decade and he was still living his life for her. Or, he had been. Who knew what he'd do now.

Sam pauses and tries to imagine the same young boy she used to see with Angela, grown now, and for the first time in the years since she'd died, free. Free from his past and free to move on if he so wished. It had been a while since Sam had seen Angela and Patrick and their little girl before the night they'd died: while there had been no real hard feelings between the Janes and their former carnie family since their departure – how could there be when it was Angela Ruskin, the circuit's darling and Patrick Jane, former boy wonder involved; Sam supposed life happened: visits back became less frequent, time and space were put between them all. There was no real resentment between the Janes and the carnies, just a bewildered non-understanding on the part of the carnies. They'd both been successful always here, were well-liked and seemed happy. What would come of leaving? Nothing good, they all knew well now.

Sam has seen Patrick only a couple of times since Angela's death, and she tries to imagine him with someone else but finds it near impossible to do – all their lives, the two had been together, or so it seemed to her. And yet, now when she thinks of Jane killing that horrible man, it's not Angela Sam imagines standing beside him, but that little cop, Lisbon. Sam had been shocked to say the least when Patrick Jane of all people had wound up on her doorstep with the police, and with that little whippet of a lady cop at that. Still, Sam knew straight up that this Teresa Lisbon had to be made of strong stuff to manage to keep Patrick Jane onboard, and she'd been proved right on more than one occasion. Not typical police to say the least, Sam thought. Following Caitlin's disappearance and her safe return to them, Sam had been forced to change her opinions about law enforcement, or at least when it came to Teresa Lisbon. Sam had seen a notion of change in the working relationship between Patrick and Lisbon when they'd come the second time, about Caitlin, something she'd been glad to see, though she'd kept it quiet. Who knew what would happen now, Sam thinks. She had been so glad to see Patrick and Danny reconciled, she just prayed now that Patrick could reconcile himself to himself, and to a future of happiness ahead. She had been there to witness love blossom between Patrick and Angela in their youths, perhaps now she might see love blossom once more. Sam always knew about these things. Sam smiled.

Through the boom of the radio, Sam hears Pete approach outside, and to her it sounds like he has trouble right alongside with him, if the gurgling laughs are anything to go by, and they are. Sam takes a towel to dry her hand, and opens the door. Caitlin grows more beautiful by the day and she is a beacon of hope to them all. Sam smiles at Pete as he readjusts his hold on the little girl in his arms.

"What is it?" he's saying now.

"Red John is dead."

"Patrick Jane?" Pete says and Sam nods.

"I'll be damned," Pete says, and he turns away, playtalking with Caitlin. They were never a pair cut out for overexcitement.

Sam watches the scene before her. Red John killed one little girl, Charlotte, and her mother, Angela, and he killed Lele, and would have killed Caitlin, but she lives, and she is here and she is happy. There was happiness for Patrick before Red John, and there will be happiness for him again, Sam is sure of it.

She's always known about these sorts of things.


	2. JD

_**AN:** Thanks for all the feedback on Chapter 1, Sam's chapter! I'm glad you all love her character as much as I do! This chapter is focused on J.D., i.e. "the new guy in the mail room is hot..." I just felt so sorry for all the other staff in the CBI losing their jobs - sentimental fool here! Please do review, and if you want to guess who the next chapter will be focused on, whoever gets it right can have a shoutout! :) I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

The alarm buzzes too early for his liking. J.D. had arrived back just last evening from San Francisco. He'd had a wonderful few days' break, visiting his sister Emily", her husband and their new baby daughter. J.D. was delighted to be a new uncle, and had spent his time in San Fran falling deeply in love with the perfect little girl he knew he would treasure for the rest of his life. He couldn't wait. Emily and her husband would make amazing parents, he was sure of it already. They had been looking forward to this for so long and J.D. couldn't have felt happier for them both.

He could have felt a little more well-rested, however, but J.D. slaps his alarm off and rolls out of bed, all the while wishing for a few hours' more rest. He's already running late, so J.D. ends up rushing out the door, one sleeve of his coat hanging off his arm, putting his bike helmet on, the straps hitting his chin, the picture completed by the piece of toast in his mouth.

Twenty minutes later, things are looking up, coming round the corner before the CBI, J.D. knows he's only a few minutes late. Pedalling hard, he rounds the corner, and looking down to make sure his ID is clipped to his jacket, he approaches the security desk. Tommy, the security guard, is nowhere to be seen. He must be inside, J.D. thinks, dismounting from his bike and pushing it past the barrier to the car park. He's looking down at his bicycle, so J.D. is almost in the middle of the car park when he realises he's the only one around. What the hell? He thinks, looking round at the deserted car park and the darkened building. Pushing his bike on over to the front entrance, J.D. abandons it and jogs to the door, his face pressed up against the glass to peer inside. He tries the door, but it's locked. J.D. hasn't got a clue what's going on, and he's panicking a bit now, which is unlike him. For a brief second he wonders if he actually did get out of bed this morning, that maybe he'll awake shortly to the sound of his second alarm. This place, usually so bustling is now like a graveyard, and it feels very unsettling. J.D. runs round to the side entrance but it is locked too. He's backing away from the building when he hears a loud voice approaching urgently from the front.

"Excuse me, what the hell do you think you're doing?"

J.D. jumps and looks round to a man he doesn't know.

"Who are you?" J.D. thinks his own voice sounds like a child's compared.

The man pulls out a badge and holds it out. "FBI Special Agent Dennis Abbott is my name. I have to ask you what you're doing here."

"FBI?" J.D. is saying, not fully in control of the words coming out of his mouth. "This is the _C_BI. I work here. I work inside here."

J.D. is aware of another car pulling up behind what must be Abbott's vehicle.

"You don't work here anymore, son," this man Abbott is saying, but he can't be right.

"Huh?" J.D. is saying now, and then looks up and sees that it is Agent Lisbon that is approaching, from where her car is parked, just behind Abbott's. She somehow manages to look both vacant and determined at the same time. "Agent Lisbon," J.D. almost shouts, going to her. "What the hell is going on? Who is this guy? He's sayi-"

Lisbon looks up at him. "J.D., please." She looks at him strangely. "I- How have you not heard?"

J.D. has always liked Agent Lisbon. She's very pretty, of course, and she's successful, but she's so _lovely_. She always says hello, asks how he's doing. When J.D. started back in the mailroom a few years back, he'd fancied her a bit. A few times he'd noticed her there, hanging around, maybe waiting on something or other, he'd thought. He'd smile at her and she'd smile back, and then a few moments later she'd have disappeared, until the next time. A couple of years ago at the Christmas party was the first time they'd really got talking properly, and they'd been hitting it off great, and then someone had pointed out the mistletoe above them. He'd kissed her on the cheek then and pretended not to notice her blush, for he was sure he'd been blushing too. They'd got coffee once or twice but he'd never dared cross that line with her. He supposed he'd put her on a bit of a pedestal, and besides, she'd always seemed very close to that blonde consultant she had. Mr Jane. Still, they were friends.

She's looking up at him now.

"I-uh, I've been away. San Francisco..." he mumbles. "My sister..." he trails off.

Something seems to occur to Lisbon then. "Your sister," she muses. "She had the baby?"

"Yeah," J.D. can't help the broad grin that spreads across his face. "A little girl."

Lisbon smiles. "I'm glad."

Abbott clears his throat.

Lisbon looks down to her shoes, but when she knows Abbott isn't looking she steals a glance back at J.D. and he catches her smile and roll of the eyes.

Abbott begins telling J.D about the events that have unfolded here since his departure a few days earlier. It seems so thrilling, and so unbelievable that J.D. can't quite take it all in. When Abbott is finished, he looks to Lisbon for confirmation.

"It's been one hell of a week," she says.

J.D. nods.

"Agent Lisbon," Abbott says, turning to her. "Call in your team, won't you?"

"I did," Lisbon says. "They're on their way."

"And Jane?" Abbott asks, looking at her, eyebrows raised.

"I don't know," Lisbon says. "I called him. No answer."

Abbott pulls out a key from his pocket, and turns to face J.D. again. "Sorry about your job," he says, with a sly smirk, and turns away, heading towards the front entrance. J.D. gets the impression he's sort of enjoying this.

"I _am_ sorry," Lisbon says.

"Me too," J.D. replies. "I can't believe it. I really liked it here. And you, sorry for you too. What's next for you, Agent Lisbon?"

"I've no idea," she says, and she sounds sad. Come to think of it, J.D. realises, she does spend a lot of her time here. He has seen her here many mornings, already in and settled by the time he makes his first round of the morning, before many other people are in. And often he's seen her late in the evenings too. Almost always there, sometimes alone, sometimes with Mr Jane, but solid, dependable, always _there_. Dedicated would be a good word, he thinks. He realises with a start that his working days with her are over, at least for now.

"End of the CBI," he muses. "I can't believe it."

"Yeah." She sighs. "You know, I really loved it here. Loved it."

"You could tell," J.D. says, and Lisbon smiles. Then her lovely face is sad again. She gestures to where Agent Abbott has entered the CBI building.

"I'd better go," she says. "My team are coming in to meet with Abbott. We've got a lot to discuss."

"And Mr Jane?" J.D. asks, before he can stop himself. He's got to know, once and for all.

Lisbon starts, and looks up at him, and when he meets her gaze, he sees nothing but unguarded love in her eyes at the mention of her consultant.

"Jane? This Red John stuff drives him round the bend, but I'll try and keep him right, as always. He'll be fine. I'm well used to dealing with him."

So there it is. She's spoken for, clearly. It was what he'd always known, really. Of course she is, they're always hanging round together, laughing together, always just _together_. Ah well, J.D. thinks, at least he makes her happy. He'd like to know she'll be happy, even if he isn't going to be around to see her anymore.

"Take care, Agent Lisbon. It's been a pleasure," he says, and before he knows it, she's hugging him, and he hugs her back, embracing her tightly in the deserted car park of their little CBI home. She withdraws then, but her arms rest still on his.

"Be well, J.D," she says.

He nods, and with a final smile she turns to follow in Abbott's footsteps. She turns at the last moment and holds up a hand in farewell. He does the same, and when she's gone and once again he's alone in the abandoned, detected parking lot, he goes and collects his bicycle.

He supposes he'll just head home and go back to bed. Funny how half an hour ago it was all he wanted in the world, and now he'd give anything for a normal day at work.

* * *

That evening, J.D. phones his sister and tells her what's happened. Emily is shocked, but she's sure it will be fine, knows it will all sort itself out. She's suddenly become very wise now that she's a mother. J.D. smiles. Then Emily's baby starts to cry and she says she'll call him back, but he tells her it's fine. He might go to bed early. No reason why though, it's not like he has to get up for work in the morning.

It's then he flicks on the telly and muses through the stations as he munches on a bowl of cereal. It's then he sees what's happened on the news. Red John has been killed, and though he has not been apprehended, the main suspect by a long mile is one Patrick Jane who is believed to be on the run. He's not thought to be dangerous, and poses no threat to the public, strange as that seems. It's then he finds out that Agent Lisbon and her team have been arrested. It's only then he jumps and tips his bowl of cereal into his lap.

Agent Lisbon, arrested? Just hours ago they'd said their farewells. Perhaps after he'd left her there she'd fallen right into Abbott's trap. Perhaps it might have been prevented. Maybe he should have done something, but what? He would have been of little use to her, anyway. You could never try and protect someone already so much better than yourself, he thought.

Surely it was all a misunderstanding, easy to do after all that had happened and all that had been revealed in the CBI in the last few days. They would all be fine, if a little hurt and disheartened by the week's events.

Lisbon would be fine, and Jane too. Once they had each other, nothing could stop them, J.D. was sure. They'd be fine, and he would too. They'd miss the CBI a little along the way, just as he would, that's all.

And that was fine, too.

It had been one hell of a place.


	3. Tommy

**AN:** _"decade:(noun) 1. a period of ten years; 2. a group, set or series of ten." _Thanks for all the feedback so far, and thanks to the guest reviewers too! As before, if you have any suggestions or guesses as to who should/is coming up in the next chapters, let me know! Please do review, it's great to know these fics are being enjoyed!

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Tommy is in the kitchen when the phone rings. He and Annie are clearing up the things from their late dinner that he'd made, spaghetti bolognese, Annie's favourite. She'd handed in a big project at school today and he'd wanted to treat her a little. Now he was finishing drying up their plates and putting them away as Annie spooned scoops of ice cream into bowls for dessert. Annie nods at him to where the phone sits on the counter and drying his hands quickly in the towel beside him, he picks up the phone.

"Hello?" he says. Who'd be calling at this time, he wonders.

"Tommy?"

"Teresa, yeah it's me. What's up?"

On hearing her aunt's name, Annie spins around from where she'd been so carefully weighing spoonfuls of ice cream against one another. She throws down the spoon and approaches her father, clearly eager to speak to her favourite aunt. Tommy chuckles at his daughter's reaction and then zones back in to what his sister is saying, but is distracted again by Annabeth.

"Please, Dad," Annie is whining. "Let me talk to her... I want to tell he-"

Annie trails off as her father puts a finger to his lip. She's a good girl, he knows. He's been very lucky with her. And she loves her aunt.

"Reese," he says, not realising he's cutting across his elder sister's attempts to talk to him, to tell him something. "There's someone here wants to say hello!"

Tommy gives Annie the phone and watches her talk animatedly into the phone, all stories and laughs and hands up in the air. Teresa is so good for Annie, he couldn't be more sure of it. It's only moments later, still watching Annie talk into the mouthpiece non-stop that he sees her face suddenly fall.

"Sure," Annie says, face fallen, sullen and disappointed, a little confused. "I'll put you back on to him. Bye. Bye."

Annie looks up at her father and shrugs, handing him the phone back. Tommy wonders what's going on. She's probably just in a rush. His sister, always a thousand things to be done before now. He takes back the phone and raises it to his ear.

"Teresa?" he asks.

"Tommy," he hears her say, voice a little breathy. "Can you talk?"

"Yeah, sis, what's up?" He ignores the growing sense of worry in the pit of his stomach and covers the mouthpiece with his hand and gestures to Annie.

"Take your ice cream on in, I'll be in in a moment," he says, feigning a smile and gesturing to the door.

Annie nods and leaves the kitchen with a smile, full bowl of ice cream in hand, shutting the door behind her. When she's gone, Tommy speaks quietly into the phone.

"What is it, Reese, what's happened?"

A pause, and then a sigh.

"It's all gone to hell, Tommy. I don't know what to do."

Tommy is scared.

Already, he's never heard his sister talk like this, behave like this. She's always the level-headed, dependable one, always in control no matter what the situation.

"What the hell's happened, Teresa? What's wrong? Are you ok-"

"I'm fine," she says. "Or else, I will be."

Another pause.

"Jane killed Red John today."

Tommy feels a whoosh in the very depths of his stomach.

"Holy-" Tommy says, but manages to cut in on himself "-Is he okay? Are _you_ okay? What happened?"

"He realised Red John's identity, ran off and killed him. Oh, God," she says, sounding as if the realisation of the day's events are just hitting her. "I haven't heard from him since," she says quietly.

A strange, frightening laugh escapes her.

"Tommy, I was arrested today."

"What the hell?!" Tommy exclaims. "Fat lot of good that'll do the CBI, arresting their own agents! Did they think you'd something to do with Jane?"

Tommy's head is spinning with the thought of his sister going through all this alone.

"If only," she says, and Tommy can hear her voice catching in her throat. "The CBI has been shut down, Tommy. The FBI shut us down."

He thinks she might have started to cry, everything suddenly on top of her.

"Come home," Tommy says, the words out of his mouth before he has even thought of them. "Come home, Reese. Come here, stay with us. Get away from all that. Please, Reese, for once, just come home and let us look after you. Please. _ Please_. For me"

She lets out a shaky laugh at his words.

"Oh Tommy," she says. "Alright. Alright."

Tommy stays with her on the phone a long time, his ice cream standing alone on the counter, slowly depressing into a bowl of gloopy liquid mess.

* * *

Two days later, Teresa shows up on their doorstep, a little teary eyed, a little dazed, but positive as always. Tommy can't quite believe all that's happened, but most of all he can't believe she's actually come home. That alone lets him know just how damn much it's all getting to her. He's delighted though that she's here, and to have the chance to do something for her. She's taken care of him for so long, it's time to return the favour.

Annie knows something is up, but she doesn't say anything. Tommy is sure she's never seen her aunt like this before, because it's been a long, long time since he saw his sister in this state. She is holding it together, though, but Tommy knows this break away was probably the best thing for her. Teresa is attentive to Annie, but Tommy can see that Annie is worried. She's not used to seeing her aunt like this.

"You okay?" Tommy hears her ask her aunt one evening, their two voices floating in from the living room to where he stands in the kitchen. He cringes.

He hears his sister laugh, false and forced, half-convincing.

"Of course, Annie. I'm fine. Don't you be worrying about me!"

The next day, Tommy pulls Annie to the side.

"Even adults have rough patches, kid. Aunt Reese will be fine, she's just going through a tough time. It'll be fine. Wait till you see."

Annie nods and she seems happier after that. He can tell too that Teresa is making a bigger effort. She's smiling more now, is more attentive, for Annie's sake.

It's only at night, after Annie has gone to bed that Tommy dares talk to his sister. He wants to help her, but doesn't want to push her. She's always been the one to give help, not so quick to receive it. In the dark of night in a city miles and miles away however, she confides in Tommy her darkest fears about Patrick and how he will cope. How she will cope. What is to be done.

Tommy is mad that this is affecting her so much, he's mad that she and Patrick Jane got so close. He'd always wondered about Jane, he'd seemed like such a messer, but she had seemed happy enough, seemed to think he was worth it. Now, Tommy wasn't so sure.

"You don't love him, do you?" Tommy asks one night.

"What?!" Teresa sounds scandalised.

Tommy says nothing, and Teresa's face falls.

"I don't know," she says. "Christ," she says, knees on her elbows, her head in her hands, on the verge of laughter, on the verge of tears. "I don't even know that."

She rolls her eyes at herself.

"Probably," she mutters.

"D'you think he loves you?" Tommy asks.

Teresa looks up from her hands and raises her eyebrows pointedly at her youngest brother.

"What?" Tommy asks. "I'm just looking out for my big sister. I want you happy," he says, putting his arm around her shoulders. "And if he doesn't want that for you then he's no good, Reese. No one looks after you like you. Someone wise told me that, sis."

"Me," she smiles.

He nods.

"You always looked out for us."

She reaches her hand to her brother's forehead and smoothes his hair back, like she used to when he was her baby.

"Someone had to," she says.

"But you didn't," he insists. "You were only a child, too."

They are quiet for a while.

Tommy can sense the evening's conversation is coming to its close.

"Make sure and look after yourself now," he says.

She nods.

"I will," she says.

* * *

She leaves for home the next day.


	4. Summer

**AN:** _"decade:(noun) 1. a period of ten years; 2. a group, set or series of ten." _Chapter 4 sees the return of Summer, a character no one actually mentioned in reviews, which I thought was interesting! Summer is a gem of a character, so I thought I'd give her a chance to show her face here too. The feedback so far had been great, so thank you! As before, if you have any suggestions or guesses as to who should/is coming up in the next chapters, let me know! Please do review, it's great to know these fics are being enjoyed!

* * *

The baby is fretting. He's still getting over an ear infection and he's been sleeping very little these days. Summer hasn't slept a full night in weeks. Marshall is great, tells her again and again that _he'll _stay up with him this time, that she should go on to bed, but she insists _no_.

So here she is, twenty past three in the morning pacing the floor, her little child in her arms, his head resting on her shoulder, tucked in towards her neck. She thinks he must approve of the soft of her dressing gown, because now and again he gives a contented little sigh against her neck.

Summer has embraced motherhood more fully than she'd ever thought herself capable of. She loves being a mother, how it fulfils her better than anything else she could imagine. She feels complete in her little family of three and she is happy in herself. Of course, this doesn't mean she doesn't miss her lie-ins, doesn't mean she wouldn't kill for an hour-long bubble bath, but she knows that all pales in comparison when she looks into her baby boy's eyes and knows finally the meaning of unconditional love.

There's a lot of time at home now, though, in-between time; a lot of time spent waiting for Marshall to come home, a lot of time waiting for her son to wake up from his naps. These serve as Summer's only respite, however, and sometimes then her mind drifts to an earlier time in her life, her time in Sacramento when she had turned her life around and felt like Kimball Cho's Girl Friday, so different now from the humdrum of baby formula and nappies. She wonders sometimes what he'd think of her now. She likes to think he's happy for her, despite all that had gone between them. He's a better person than she, she thinks, but he got her that bit closer to where he was, she knows.

The baby is dozing on her shoulder as Summer paws her way downstairs softly. She doesn't want to wake her husband, not when he works so hard all day to please her. She was lucky to find him when she did. He makes her very happy, and she knows she does the same for him. She shuffles into the sitting room and switches on the television with the remote, the sound turned down low so as not to wake either of her two boys. Teleshopping is mainly all that's on at this time, and Summer watches for a few moments the saleswoman earnestly recalling how _her _new ironing board cover _completely_ changed her life. Summer switches over.

Ads.

News.

Shopping.

Ads.

News.

Cho.

_Cho._

Summer is sure her mind must be playing tricks on her, and yet there he is, on the news, a small, secondary figure in the corner of her screen, as the main picture is filled with police cars and a cordoned off area of what seems to be a park, but it's hard to tell due to the day's lighting. Cho is talking to Lisbon, the red and blue of flashing police cars splayed over their faces. It's only then Summer sees the _Breaking News_ banner along the bottom of the screen: RED JOHN SERIAL KILLER DEAD, it says.

Summer stoops down, feeling her way to sit on the sofa, the child still dozing in her arms. Her eyes are glued to the screen. Something is off here, she thinks, but she doesn't know quite why. The camerawork is jumpy and jars somehow, but the lighting suggests this played out hours ago, late in the evening perhaps. But it's Kimball and Agent Lisbon that make this feel uneasy. When she knew Agent Lisbon, she was always at the fore, in control, at the head of her team. Here, in the flashes of them that she sees, the pair seem pushed to the side. There's no way to describe Lisbon but distraught, and Summer watches as Cho puts his hand to her elbow. She wonders what Jane might have done now, but then she realises the significance of Red John, and Summer's heart sinks as she wonders what might have happened in the fallout. As she watches Kimball lean in close to Teresa to confide something into her ear, the camera jumps and the scene changes. And then Summer's watching a newsreader back in the studio and the caption now reads something about a sharp rise in interest rates, and Summer switches over to the other news channels, but to no avail.

She switches the television off and stares into space, rubbing her baby's back to comfort herself. Her immediate reaction is to phone Kimball, to find out what the hell has happened, but because time has passed, and she now feels a little out of the loop of that wonderful group she had half belonged to for a short while, she knows she will not. She has no right anymore to any of them, why should she. She is more than glad both Cho and Teresa are alright, and she whispers a prayer that the rest of them will be alright too, but she has moved on from that life. In time she will find out the details of what has happened, she will send them her best as an old friend, but for now, she needs to put her little boy to bed. She hugs him a little tighter as he sleeps on, wholly unaware of the evil, or the concept of it, that exists in this world he is growing up in, and she is happy that tonight there is one less evil man living on the same world as her son.

Summer climbs back up the stairs and rests her child gently into his cot at the bottom of their bed and looks down on him resting, her hands on the rail of the cot. Then she hears Marshall stir, and she joins her husband in bed, and after a while, she drifts off to sleep.


	5. Virgil

_**AN:** Thanks for all the wonderful feedback on previous chapters, it means the world! I can only apologize for the delay on the update, there's been a lot to deal with in the last few weeks. This chapter is one I was really looking forward to writing, I love both characters involved very much. A line from a few seasons ago kept coming back to me during this: "Teresa, not saying something isn't happening doesn't mean that something isn't happening." Unfortunately it's something I've had to deal with myself in the last few weeks, acknowledging and coming to terms with things I'd rather not at all; something everyone must do at some stage. Bit of a ramble there, but I thought it was worth mentioning. Maybe you could keep it in mind while reading. This one ran a little longer than the rest so far (as has this AN!) Please do review, and as always if you have a suggestion or guess as to who'll be coming up in later chapters, go on ahead! Enjoy x_

* * *

"This way, please."

The waitress gestures him over to a table laid out for two. The air is warm, with a hazy breeze that makes the day feel dozy. The tablecloth ruffles lazily in the breeze and the waitress lifts out his chair for him. It occurs to him to hope that she does this for everyone, and not that she thinks he needs it. He's been feeling older lately, the tides of many years catching up with him.

"Thank you," he says kindly to her.

She leaves two menus on the table and he tucks himself in closer to the table, smoothing his tie down against his shirt. This is a nice little restaurant, especially on a day like today. It's just far enough off the beaten track to suit him, and the salt air from the near by sea lingers on the breeze. He hopes he's given good enough directions.

She will be here soon.

It's been a long time since he has seen her, a lot of water has flown under the bridge since they last met. He was sorry to leave her, but he does not regret it. He'd always had good intentions, but they have slipped through his fingers. He had been pleasantly surprised, delighted, to receive her call. She'd said she'd be in town, would love to meet him, if he so wished.

He looks around him. She will be here soon.

He'd been glad to hear from her. He'd been worried about her.

There'd been a time, when he'd been the one she'd turn to, she'd show up nervous and worried, but she would never lose her cool. But that was a long time ago now. A long time ago.

"Virgil."

He looks up, smiles, stands.

"Teresa."

Maybe it's just because he didn't see her coming, maybe it's just because hasn't seen her in years; maybe it's just because of how she's standing over him, beaming, the sun shining through her hair with that smug little smile she wears when she's really and truly happy. Maybe it's just because she looks so young, and he feels so old; maybe it's because he has changed, and she has too; maybe it's just because he knows she's been through so damn much, but as he stands, encloses her in his arms for the first time in a long time, for any one, and all, of these reasons, he finds himself biting back a quivering smile as he hugs her, and swallowing back tears before they can become themselves and she will see them.

Maybe it's because it's just been too _long_.

She pulls out of his embrace and looks searchingly into his face. "Virgil, it is so _good_ to see you."

"You too, Teresa."

She is still looking up into his face, waiting for an answer. He gestures to the seat facing him as the waitress had done. "Sit, Teresa, please."

She does so. She remarks on the restaurant as she places her jacket on the back of her seat. She chats about the weather as she roots through her bag for a tissue. He listens and watches, enjoying being in her company, and both anticipating and dreading what must come next.

"Lisbon-" he says, then catches himself. "Teresa," he smiles, and she smiles too.

"How are you?" He asks, looking at her.

She waves her hand. "I'm fine. Things are great- good." She pauses, and sees her looking at him, sees the disbelief on his face. "I'm fine," she insists. "I'm _fine_."

He says nothing.

She looks at him.

"Virgil," she says, uncertain, trying to convince him.

"Tell me, Teresa, please. For my sake if not for your own. I have to know. I have to hear it, and I'd rather hear it from you, if you don't mind."

Teresa has a hard look in her eyes and her lips tighten as she presses them together. Her face falls, and she sighs and looks back at him.

"I-" She raises her hand to her face and dabs at her cheek. "I'm trying to put it out of my head," she says.

"Probably for the best," he nods. "I can't tell you how glad I was to hear from you, Teresa. And it's great to see you. You never said – what are you doing in this part of the country anyway?"

Her gaze drops to the table and she sniffs. She looks back up at him, blinks.

"I- I wanted to say goodbye."

"Teresa, no- goodbye?"

She nods.

"Goodbye?" he repeats. "Tell me," he says.

"Washington State," she says, her voice hoarse.

His mouth drops open, and he says but a word. "Washington?"

She nods again. "It's for the best," she says. "I know it. It must be." She looks up at him. "It's too hard. It's too hard, after everything. It's too hard driving past the CBI – seeing it empty and abandoned, it's too hard being in Sacramento with- with all those memories. It's been almost six months, Virgil, and I'm done trying. I visited my brother, after, and he said something to me. He said it was up to me to look after myself. So I came home, and I tried. I tried, but it's too hard. Too much has changed. It's too hard seeing everyone move on. Cho's gone to the FBI in Virginia, you know, and Rigsby's working security for the time being. Van Pelt's doing an advanced forensic computer course, and Ja-" she smiles sadly and shrugs. "And who knows where the hell Jane is."

"You haven't heard from him?"

"No." She shakes her head. "Well, yeah, I suppose so. He's fine." She gestures meaninglessly. "He wrote me a note, Virgil, that's all."

"That's something," he muses.

"Suppose so." She pauses and he gets the feeling this is the first time she's really talked about this in depth.

"Do you resent him?" he asks.

She pauses a while.

"I don't know," she says finally. "I never knew what to expect. I knew what I _wanted_ to happen, but I think I'd come to terms with the fact it wouldn't play out like that when the time came. I just hoped the team would all make it out the other side; I never thought beyond that really, never thought we'd be split up." She hums humourlessly. "Perhaps I should have been more specific in my prayers and wishes." Minelli shrugs, a smile on his lips. "I'm not happy, though," she says. "Far from happy. I think I was pretending like it wouldn't happen, like that day would never come; and it did, and here we are." She tosses her head back, and he thinks he sees the trace of a tear in her eyes, something she shakes off with disgust with the toss of her head.

"I'm damn angry," she says dabbing one eye with the tissue from her bag, and she smiles. "That was the damn best job I ever had. Best ten years of my life, you might say," and he smiles back at her. "I'm angry that it had to go, but I know it did have to. I'm angry for the people I've lost, I'm angry for the CBI, I'm angry that it was what it was and I never knew. Most of all I think I'm angry for myself," she says quietly. "For getting so close, for caring so much about someone who never did the same."

"Jane," he says, and she starts, realising what she has said. She colours.

"Teresa," he says and then stops. She gets the feeling he doesn't know where he's going with this. "I wouldn't be so sure. I knew Jane for a long time, Teresa, and you were one of only two things he ever gave a damn about the years he was in that job. And you know as well as I do that that job was his life. There was a reason you were the only one who could ever handle him."

He can't help but soften at the proud smile she can't hold back at his words. "You think?" she asks.

He stretches his hand out and pats hers. "I know," he says.

The waitress from earlier on comes back then, and takes their order. He can feel his anxiety in the pit of his stomach. He needs to ask her now. He clears his throat.

"About the other thing. I hate to ask, Teresa, but I have to, and I want it from you. On that day, everything that happened..." she looks confused. "How much of it was me?" he asks.

"_What_?"

"I owe you a huge apology, Lisbon. I made a massive mistake, many years ago, and I'm afraid it's what led to – what led to everything that happened. The reason the CBI's been scattered. The reason it all went to hell on you. To think, all that time, all those years, what they were doing, what I _let_ them do. Please, Teresa, tell me you'll accept my deepest apologies, I can't tell y-"

"Virgil," she's saying, her hands fallen into her lap. "You've got it all wrong. This wasn't about you, you misunderstand. This was a whole lot bigger than-"

"-no, no, it was me. If I hadn't let the FBI gain access to information about Jane-"

"-then they would have got to it some other way," Lisbon finishes. "Listen to me. You are not to blame. Forget it, please. Rest easy, Virgil. Everything that happened was so much bigger than you or I. We were all just pawns on their chessboard. It's done now, all that's done and over. Time to move on."

"So it seems," he says and he feels like a huge weight has been lifted from his shoulders. "I'm happy to hear that. When I heard- oh, when I heard, when I realised what'd I'd done, what had happened. I couldn't believe it, I just couldn't. That I'd been so foolish, that-"

"You're being too hard on yourself," Lisbon exclaims. "How could you possibly have known? The FBI, Virgil; tell me, how could you have seen that coming. No way."

"You're too good," he says. "When I got the call, when I heard, I mean, I turned on the news – I gotta confess, Teresa, I've never felt so old and out of the loop. And all the time, the sinking feeling, perhaps I knew somewhere deep down all along, that part of it, a lot of it, was on my shoulders."

She begins to protest, but he holds up a hand to stop her. "I'm sorry. And I _was_ sorry. For you. I'm sorry you had to go through that."

She shrugs. "All part of the job description," she says.

"We both know that's not true. You've always gone above and beyond Teresa, I remember many a night back in CBI telling you to give up and go home. 'Just finishing up!' you'd say, and still be there two hours later. Washington will be lucky to have you."

"Thanks, Boss."

"So its settled then is it?" Minelli asks. "No chance of you heading out to Cho and the FBI? I'm sure you'd make a fine agent there, God knows you're still young enough, and I more than anyone know how lucky they'd be to have you. I'd give you one hell of a reference. You're one damn fine agent, Teresa Lisbon," he smiles, and she stifles a laugh.

"I learned from the best, Virgil, be sure of it. I don't think I was ever cut out for FBI though," she smiles. "I'm going to give Washington a real go of it though. A fresh start. It's the right thing."

"I think so too," he says. "You're going to be great, Agent Lisbon," he says pointedly.

* * *

All too soon, food has been eaten, memories shared, bills split: the time has slipped away and it is time for them to leave. He walks her to her car and they pause at the open door.

"Goodbye, Virgil," she says, her voice a little choked up. "Thanks for everything."

"And you," he says, not trusting his voice nor his nerve to say any more. He gives her a tender hug and pats her back. She sniffs and she releases him from her embrace. They both know this is goodbye. They smile long sad smiles at each other and she gets into her car, doing up her seatbelt. He closes the car door behind her and she puts her key in, turns on the engine and rolls down her window.

"This is it," she says.

"Ah no," he says, with a smile. "Best of luck, Lisbon. Have a good old life up there in Washington. Don't go forgetting us and the good times we had back in little old Sacramento."

"_Virgil_," she wants to tease, but as she hears her voice soft and fraught with emotion, she knows she has failed. "No fear of that. No, never any fear of that."

She knows enough has been said between them, no need remains for any more words or wishes about the past, present or future to be expressed; so with thought, and one last smile at him who had meant so much, she steers away from the last reminder of her old life and turns towards the open road which leads to her future, the new start she so desperately craves.

He and her past watch her go, one hand raised in farewell as she becomes but a cherished memory. He hopes he will see her again. He knows he will, one day.


	6. Danny

_**AN:** Thanks for all the feedback so far, so glad to know you're still enjoying the fic :) This chapter brings Mr Danny Ruskin to the table. I was a bit wary to explore Danny's character as we've only seen him once but I felt he was too important to leave out. I've tried to keep it in character, please review and let me know what you think!_

* * *

Danny is sitting, waiting.

He drums his fingers against the table. Impatiently. It's your standard run-of-the-mill café, its low quality reflected in the fact it's mostly empty at eleven in the morning. The waitress, Stella, according to her name badge, has been making eyes at him and it's starting to make him uncomfortable. Fortunately it's only a few moments before the door creaks open and he sees a face he hasn't seen in a long, long time.

"Well, well - look what the cat's dragged in," smirks Danny. He's always been wary of Sam Barsocky, a formidable woman if ever he knew one. His eyes follow her as she slinks round behind him to take a the seat beside him, and his smart comment is rewarded with a sharp stinging slap to the back of the neck.

Danny yelps and paws at his neck to soothe the sting. Sam sits and looks up at him, one eyebrow raised, thoroughly unimpressed.

"Long time, Master Ruskin."

He nods. "Long time."

"How've you been, Danny?"

"Same old; and you?"

"Same old," she agrees.

They sit in silence for a moment.

"Sam, not that I'm not happy to see you, but what's all this about?"

With a look he can't identify, Sam pulls her purse from where she'd left it on the floor. She looks through her purse and pulls out an envelope. She places it face-down on the table and slips it over to him with a single finger. He picks it up in his hands. No address on the front, just _Danny_, handwritten in a vaguely familiar scrawl.

He looks up at Sam questioningly.

She shrugs.

"Don't look at me, Danny. Nothing to do with me."

He turns the envelope over and pulls the flap out and pulls out what is inside.

A postcard.

A beach scene.

He turns it over and reads the sideways scrawl of small handwriting.

_Danny_

_Sure you've heard the past months' events, and if you haven't I'm sure you'll guess now. I did what I always said I'd do. It's good, though I confess I do feel a little lost. Without a goal to focus on I find myself mourning your sister and niece in a fresh and bitter way that doesn't suggest they died over a decade ago. I've been holding myself off from it for years, I suppose. Not sure what the future holds, but for now island life is still a refreshing novelty. Look me up if you're ever down this way and feeling sentimental. _

_P._

Danny looks up at Sam. She looks melancholic.

"Did he write you too?" Danny asks.

"He sure did, for all he said. Asked that we'd give out this here envelope to you."

"The lucky few we are," Danny smirks.

"Aye," Sam sighs. "Well, us and that cop lady."

"Huh?" Danny asks, eyebrows raised, peering out from under them. "Lisbon?"

"Lisbon."

Danny whistles disbelief and pushes himself back in his chair. "Whew.."

"She ain't no normal cop lady, Danny Ruskin. She's a good 'un."

Compliments such as this are rare from Sam, and unheard of regarding a member of law enforcement, Danny knows.

"You're telling me?!" He exclaims. "She was the one let me run off, let on I'd never been there in the first place. Hell of a lady cop, that one is."

"Mmm-hmm," Sam murmurs, humming in agreement. "Patrick Jane could do a lot worse than her."

"Wha- oh, you think.. You think they- they're-"

"I'm sorry, Danny. Angela was a great girl. You know we all loved her. But it's true. I for one could see he's smitten. It's been a long time since Angela. Long enough." She pauses. "Maybe too long."

Danny nods, slowly. He sniffs. He thinks of his sister as she was, as he had had her his entire life. Cheeky. Beaming. Loyal as all hell. She'd spent too much of her life running after him, looking after him, getting him out of scrapes and messes her whole life. Much like he supposed Agent Lisbon was doing for Patrick now. It occurs to him suddenly that he ought to feel offended by imagining Patrick moving on, striking up with another woman. He feels surprised when he realises it doesn't make him all that angry. Like Sam had said and Patrick had alluded to – ten years was a long time. Longer than they'd been married. He feels even - he might even call it fondness. He supposes it helps that Agent Lisbon had already proved her worth years previous. Danny thinks of her, the guilty sideways glance and his disbelief as he'd realised she was letting him go. He'd ran out of the room and left them there together. They'd been together – not _together_, but still, _together_, almost ten years. Longer than Charlotte had been alive.

He clears his throat.

"She must be something alright to keep him under tabs – and to sway you, Sam Barsocky."

"I've always said police was police, but she's the one who got Caitlin back home to us safe. You know, Lele's little girl."

It is that moment that Pete comes in, leading Caitlin by the hand as she totters unsteadily on her toes. The child claps her hands in delight when she sees Sam and falters on step. Pete swoops her into his arms and the girl giggles.

"That's Lele's little girl?" Danny asks. He's never seen her before.

"That is. You wanna hold her?"

The child is in his arms before he can make a sound. Pete goes up to the counter behind him, and Sam follows him, leaving him alone with the child.

"You want some coffee, Danny?" Sam asks, turning back to him.

He shakes his head and she turns back to her husband.

Poor Lele. Years ago they'd been friends. Grown up together. One summer, aged fifteen, she'd held his hand and they'd kissed sweetly behind a carnival tent. And now she is dead and he is holding her daughter. He recognises the child's eyes as hers. Caitlin prods a careful finger into his own chin. He smiles at her and her eyes widen. Then she sneezes. He laughs and before he knows what's happening he can feel tears in his eyes as he realises this is the first child he's held since Charlotte.

And he looks at this child, and he remembers her mother. He remembers his sister and his niece. He remembers how they were all killed. He remembers how it felt to be the one left behind. He remembers how it felt to get Patrick's call. How it had hurt. How he had hung up the phone and sat in silence for minutes, uncomprehending. Then, _oh_, how he had raged. How he had erupted and exploded and never been the same again.

He remembers the night, a couple of months ago, sitting alone in a busy bar when the newsflash had blazed across the television in the corner. One moment two sport commentators had been comparing notes, the next he was looking at a headline and a crime scene he couldn't quite believe. Another moment again and he was staring into a photograph of Charlotte Jane's face splashed across the scene, a reminder for the Californian public who might have conveniently forgotten the sordid affair.

The people around him were grumbling at the interruption at their precious sports' coverage and it was a moment before he realised it was his voice he could hear. "Shut up!" He was shouting, eyes glued to the screen. "Shut up! Shut up!" He was standing on the supporting bar of his stool, stretching towards the screen, and he knew he looked like a madman, but now it was Angela's face he could see, his precious, beautiful Angela, and why were they doing this, why were they turning his family into a spectacle, hadn't enough been done to them already, and that was all he could think about, not the fact Red John was dead. Not the fact that Patrick had avenged his sister like he'd always said he would. Not that. Because he couldn't deal with that.

Danny shakes himself and brings himself back to the present. He swallows the lump in his throat. Lele's child is staring at him with big baby blue eyes.

His sister's husband has killed the man who killed this child's mother. He feels a twisted satisfaction at the thought.

"Poor baby," he says, voice low in his throat. "All alone." The baby giggles. "You and me both, baby. You and me both."

"Except she's not alone," Sam cuts in.

She's back, standing behind him.

"And neither are you, Danny. You know that."

She takes her seat beside him, and Pete follows her over, two steaming mugs of black coffee in his hands.

"I think you're right, Sam," Danny says eventually.

"She's never right, but she's rarely wrong," Pete pipes in.

Sam gives him a rare smile.

Danny lets a laugh escape. They're some crowd.

"You've _realised_ I'm right?" Sam prompts slyly.

"I _think_ Patrick deserves his happiness. He's paid the price, and over again."

Pete nods. He digs Sam in the elbow. "Y'all talking about Young Pepper?"

"Mmmhmm," she nods.

Danny stifles a shaky laugh and settles Caitlin on his knee. "It's common knowledge then? Patrick and Lisbon?"

Sam stops a while before she answers.

"Well we've figured it out," she says then. "I daresay they have."

"Whether _they'_ve come to terms with it, that's the question," Pete says.

"They will." Sam says wisely. "They'll be fine."

Pete leans back in his chair, mug in hand, and gestures to his wife. "I'd trust her word, Danny. She always knows about things like this."

A memory comes suddenly to Danny, years old and years forgotten. Not a big memory, not important, nothing more than a look; just a pointed, knowing look from Sam, a glance as she had caught him smiling at Lele Turner. He'd blushed and Sam had had an extra kick of a glint in her eye the rest of the day.

Pete was right. Sam always knew.

Maybe she was right now. Patrick and Agent Lisbon would be fine, no matter how unlikely it seemed at present. For Danny had seen Patrick pursue his stubborn, sparkling sister and he had made her happier than she'd ever been before. Agent Lisbon was tough, but she was hardly _that_ tough.

Thinking on it now, Danny was certain. They would be fine.


End file.
